The Doll House
by Moira Sahou
Summary: After the events of the Fabricated World, Ib is tortured with memories of the horrors she's seen - and the people she lost. A look at her descent into madness, and then the end of it. Oneshot. Warnings inside. Rated T for reasons.


The Doll House - An Ib fanfic

By: Moira Sahou

**A/N: **This is my first fanfic! Used to be a songfic, but more on that below.

**Edited**: The song lyrics have been taken out. I was informed it went against some rules. Sorry for any inconvenience, but it can still be read as a fanfic - and the song can be played in the background for the desired effect, after all.

**Summary: **After the events of the Fabricated World, Ib is tortured with memories of the horrors she's seen - and the people she lost. A look at her descent into madness, and then the end of it.

**Notes/Extra Summary: **This is set after an AU ending where Ib the only one who gets out alive. Imagine Garry and Mary are either dead or trapped in that world, Mary perhaps going insane trying to kill them both, and Ib being the only one who managed to escape. Or, more probably, Garry manages to save Ib, at the cost of his own life. Whatever case, Ib was the only one to survive, and it's haunting her.

**Warnings: **Character Death, Suicide and Insanity ahead. But there is a happy-ish ending!

_Italics: Thoughts/Flashbacks_

This is regular speech/actions/dialogue.

With that all said... let's begin!

- o - o - o -

* * *

Ib's pale, small fingers brushed over the smooth, even face of the canvas. It had been over 3 months since that terrible day in the gallery, and everything that had taken place there.

When she had found her parents, shaky and weak, tears ready to fall, they seemed not to notice anything wrong, and it was only when they had gotten home that Ib's parents had noticed anything wrong.

But by then, it was too late.

She had immediately withdrawn inside herself, and now her brown hair was no longer shiny and long. It was always short, cropped close to her shoulders. Her eyes, once bright and happy, were now a dull, hollow reddish-brown, and her expression was always shuttered. She had grown even smaller and thinner from lack of proper eating.

Trying everything from trips to exotic places to small trinkets, her parents had not been able to buy anything or go anywhere that cheered up their daughter.

The only thing that her frantic parents had remote success with is giving her a journal, which she wrote and drew in occasionally, and buying her an easel with paints.

But even those things couldn't bring back any sense of joy into her anymore - the memories were finally consuming her.

Locked away thoughts were resurfacing, angry at being pushed away.

Ib sighed, a frail exhale of warm air, and went over to a body-length mirror that was close by.

She hardly looked in mirrors anymore - she always saw things she didn't want to.

Memories, hastily buried, but never gone. Angry, mean, scary memories.

_"Wh-what is that?!"_

_A white head with red eyes staring over his shoulder, glaring with malevolence back into their eyes._

_He let out a shriek, and threw it down, about to kick it -_

_- but he was stopped, and let out a sigh._

_"Yeah, your right."_

_They left the room._

Ib shook her head and peered hesitantly into the mirror, the first time in a while.

"I can do it..." she whispered to the room at large, shivering. It was cold.

She looked harder, took a step forward

A kind smile and a long, green coat leapt back at her and she screamed, pushing the mirror away hastily, tears already flowing.

_'He's not here, not here, he's gone, with her, he's deaddeadeaddeaddead-!'_

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, but they got there too late - Ib's small wrist, hand curled into a furious fist, had already smashed the mirror to pieces.

_'GO AWAY!'_

_"Ib? How did you get here?_

_Get out! get out now!_

_Leave!_

_LEAVE! LEAVE!_

_Leave me here... go on...!'_

But every piece reflected that smile, flames, her and him and that _smile-_

Those memories were all loose now.

Ib couldn't escape them anymore.

* * *

"Ib, what were you thinking?! What on earth possessed you to smash that mirror?"

She remained quiet, dull reddish-brown eyes staring straight ahead, and her mother sighed.

"You know, I was hoping you'd gotten better - I see you painting all the time!"

Still Ib remained quiet, lifeless eyes staring at the wall like there was something happening.

Ib's mother finished bandaging the small hand, and stood from her place on the floor.

"You need to get out, get some fresh air." she said firmly. She motioned to the door.

"Run around, do something, Ib!"

But Ib only stood from the stool she had been on, and walked without a word to the kitchen door, and outside into the backyard, closing the door quietly behind her.

Her mother worried her bottom lip and let out a trembling sigh.

"My daughter..."

There had been no life in those eyes.

What had happened at that gallery?

* * *

In the yard, Ib sat on a bench, and stared around, dull eyes replaying unwelcome memories over and over again.

_"Leave! Go on without me, Ib!"_

_He called, eyes wide with pain, but also determination._

_"Go! Find that painting! Go into it, Ib! Please!"_

_Screaming, a blond girl with wild blue eyes charged at him, and he managed to push the body behind him out-of-the-way, and dodged the girl._

_"Ib! GO!"_

_And she ran, she ran like she never had before, not knowing where she was going, tears blinding her vision, down endless corridors, past countless paintings-_

_Until she came to a large painting that covered the wall. With a last blinded glance behind her, she jumped into the painting, and her last vision was of the person she had grown to love as a brother was swallowed by darkness, holding onto the hand of the blonde girl she had known as a sister. They both wore peaceful expressions, even as the darkness tore into them._

_Her family was swallowed._

Ib wanted to let out a scream.

This fate was so unfair - they both were gone, gone, ripped away from her like a flower ripped from the ground, uprooting her and tossing her into the harsh world.

"Why?"

Ib uttered the hushed word, tears flowing down her pink cheeks, but she received no answer.

* * *

Ib's brush, tips coated with blue paint, streaked across the canvas. She changed to black, red, yellow - all felt her emotions, and yet, were spared from her wrath.

The weeks had flown by, and now it had been 6 months since the events in _that _world.

She let loose a small snarl that should never come from a child her age, and threw her brush down, looking on in satisfaction at the mess she had caused on the canvas.

A beautiful, proud mess.

A blue rose, entwined with a red and yellow rose, was standing boldly up to a monster of black shadows - the shadows had red eyes, and circled around the roses, but they held strong.

Anger filled Ib quickly, as it had filled her steadily for the past month, and she violently tore the painting apart.

These memories were so_ choking _- they kept coming back, and _suffocating_ her like a noose!

No matter how many paintings, sculptures, pastries she tore apart - the rage was still there, sadness only just buried under its firey red presence.

Rage that had only come recently, from buried memories, from the terrors and helplessness she experienced.

"Why did they leave me?! I'm all alone! I'm alone! Alone! ALONE!"

Ib screamed this out, and threw the canvas onto the floor. She ignored the banging on her door in favor of tearing the papers.

Suffocating rage... suffocating sadness...

"I wish you were still here..." she wept bitterly, horrors entering her mind as they always did, and she fell to her knees.

"Garry... Mary... Where did you go?"

* * *

It was now 7 months since the events.

Or maybe more? Less?

Ib didn't care. It was useless to count. She could barely think straight.

She also couldn't cry anymore.

She brushed her hair and put it into a small ponytail - her haircut had grown steadily shorter, and now it was close to her ears.

She lifted her head to the mirror on her dresser, bracing herself in case there was another face she didn't want to see.

But there was only her - or what was left of Ib.

Dark, almost black eyes stared back at her out of a sunken face, and she pondered this newest installment of her awful life.

She couldn't cry anymore.

Maybe it was because she was all cried out?

She hesitantly poked at her memory, allowing a memory from her extensive storage to float to the surface, one of _them _bring torn apart.

No, no, the sadness was still there as potent as ever, if not more so.

But the tears wouldn't come.

She scowled.

Another curveball of fate - taking away any release she was getting from crying.

Now, now there was only rage, hate, anger, and still, still that aching feeling of loss.

In the light of the moon, night after night, Ib stayed awake to paint and tear apart her memories, never doing anything more than provoking the shadows in her room to frighten her, and waste paper and paint.

She still couldn't cry, even as the shadows nipped at her heels, hands, and waist.

She couldn't cry.

* * *

Not far into the 9th month, or whatever month it was now, Ib had an idea, and it worked nicely for a while.

Words.

They formed a barrier around the girl, allowing her to feel a sense of normalcy for a while, working her facial muscles in something other than a scowl or frown.

A fake smile, a screen, a mask.

And it worked, for some time, until the memories broke through even that defence.

Ib screamed more often, and her eyes became darker with even darker emotions.

Rage, hate, sadness - they all swirled beneath the calm, polite mask of fake smiles and laughs.

Then the mask shattered, and everything repeated itself.

* * *

Black and red swirled together on the smooth surface of the canvas.

Ib was painting again, but this time, there was no color.

The blue and yellow roses had become corrupted - black was all that was left of their once proud colors.

Dark, empty eyes gazed emotionless at the canvas, noting with a small sense of satisfaction the red rose, still standing, protecting the corpses of the other two roses.

"That's right... I will protect them until the end..." she whispered into the night, and she shadows around her seemed to laugh. Her dark eyes sparked with something sinister, determined, and defeated at once.

The laughter made her spin in her chair, and walk to her window, gazing out at the red-rimmed moon. She continued her mutterings, short hair shinning in the red-tinted light.

"I can protect them. I'll pay them back, watch me!" she snarled the last part to the laughing shadows, who immediately quieted.

"Wait for me, Garry... Mary... I'll save you both, even if I have to die!"

Her eyes shined, ignoring the fact that the painted, sad red rose was half-black and half-red, petals falling off it, falling to the floor.

* * *

Ib's eyes now held emotion, but that didn't comfort her parents at all.

Greying early from stress, the two watched ash their daughter did the most worrying things.

Taking knifes from the kitchen at random times, muttering about 'pallet knives' and how many roses she would need.

Her room was always, always locked, and splashed of red, blue, and yellow paint were always on the door handle, and more often than not, covered black paint.

And the paint, oh, how were they supposed to comply with this wish, they wondered?

And she had asked for paint, as much paint as she could get.

They wondered what kind of project their daughter was working on.

It worried them how active Ib had become - there was a desperate, hasty, anxious thrum about her, and she always moving now, though still hardly eating.

Her eyes had taken on a bit of their earlier red-brown, but it was a far sharper gaze then she had before.

The two could ony watch as Ib became more and more excited, though, for what, they could hardly know.

They weren't sure they even wanted to know - the occasional screams from their daughter's room had frightened them.

The more and more common bangs, howls, and maniacal laughter coming from the same room, however, had begun terrifying them beyond belief.

So one night, as Ib seemed to be a the climax of her excitement, they used the spare key they had hidden to unlock her room and look inside.

* * *

The painting took up the wall.

It was a smaller, messier version of the original, but it was obvious what it was.

The pinned paper label underneath it clearly read 'Fabricated World.'

Ib smiled, cheeks splashed with red from the effort of non-stop painting, and red paint that had been attracted to the original red rose.

But finally, _finally, _it was close to finished - all it needed now was the golden border around it, and the painting would be finished.

It had taken her weeks and more paint then she cared for - but it was close.

_They _were close.

"I'll come for you, Garry! Wait for me!" she murmured, reddish-brown eyes alight with wild pleasure, everything but excitement and anxiety pushed from her mind.

She rummaged around in the huge bag that her parents had gifted her with, and upon finding the golden-colored paint, she let loose a loud, wild scream of laughter.

A twisted sound of joy - she was so _close!_

Now these torments would leave her, and she would be with them again.

But then, the morning of her peak of excitement, after she had dressed in the same outfit she had been in all those months ago, and turned with bright eyes, the noose came around her neck again, and she was suffocated.

* * *

Ib's dry lips opened in a soundless scream, noose tightening around her neck.

Her painting, the painting that was a gateway to her _freedom, to them, _was _ruined!_

It had been covered by a cloth, and a note had been pinned to it.

She ripped the paper off, taking the cloth with it, and a horrible sound ripped from her throat.

_"Ib,_

_I've covered this painting, because it's gotten unhealthy how much you've done._

_I'm sorry if this upsets you, dear, but we need to talk about this immediately._

_See us as soon as you get up._

_- Mom and Dad."_

"What right... how dare... Garry! Mary!"

A harsh, dry sob broke through, and she fell to the ground.

It was all smeared - the still-wet paint had clung to the cloth, and now it was unrecognizable.

Weeks of hard work, being so close-!

Now it was all gone.

Unforgivable.

The shadows crowded around Ib, who was still silently screaming.

"Take me away... stop... stop it... come back..."

Murmurs were the only sound for the rest of the day - Ib ignored her parent's summons, and wallowed in her mind's despair.

* * *

Ib confined herself to her room, not coming out for anything.

She tried to re-create the painting, but the smears had damaged her copy of the Fabricated World so badly, she'd need to re-do it completely.

On her knees, finishing the last, wistful stroke of gold, she threw the paint can down.

A snarl, horse and quiet, passed her lips, eyes now dark as night shining with a promise.

"I'll get you, Mary... Garry... even if I have to... die..."

A brilliant idea struck her then, and a crazed smile adorned her lips.

"Even if I have to die... I'll save you, Garry..."

She then stood, knees bleeding from a rugburn, but not caring, and moved to unlock her door.

"And Mary, oh Mary, what happened to you?"

She opened it, pushed it open, and, still with the smile that spoke of a last decision on her once pretty face, walked silently to the kitchen.

She left a trail of red behind her, fingertips wet with red paint softly grazing the wall, leaving it crying red in the girl's path.

* * *

Red eyes, that was their natural color after all, shined eerily in the moonlight.

Eyes that hadn't been sane for quite some time, that had lost the ability to cry long ago, now had a spark of something in them, other than rage or sadness.

_Hope._

Her brown hair, down to her waist, shined with health, and her cheeks were just the right shade of pink.

She looked like she used to, back then, she mused - but then the moon shifted, and she felt her madness return.

She quickly found what she was looking for, and Ib clutched it tightly.

Moonlight streamed into the kitchen small window, an even smaller beam of light falling on the silver coated weapon in the girl's hands that she had acquired, for once no memories of small knives and paint accompanying the sight.

Her mind was quiet, at peace with her decision.

A whispered promise split the night. Wild eyes cleared for a split-second, before they became glassy, like marbles, or eyes one would see in a doll's face, and a small thump then parted the shadows on the floor.

A harsh clang split the silence of the night, before it folded back around the still body on the floor, shooing away the shadows attempting to snare the girl.

Red flowing onto the floor from a slash on the wrist, and the echo of the whispered promise was the last remnants of the girl who was once called Ib, whose body had fallen, and who's hand had slit her own wrist in an act of desperation and hope mixed together.

At peace.

That whispered promise still rung faintly to the shadows and moon, the only witnesses to the end of the girl's descent to insanity finally coming to an end.

_"I'll see you again, Garry. I'll save you, Mary. We'll all see each other again, I promise!"_

The moon watched as Ib wandered back to the World where she was gathered into the arms of Garry and Mary. Their youthful, healthy faces shined with a tinge of sadness, before clearing with happiness at seeing each other again. They all smiled and laughed, before vanishing without a sound, holding hands like siblings.

_"Let's eat macaroons together!"_

_"Hey, Ib, what's your favorite flavor? Mine's strawberry!"_

_"Hehe, I don't know yet, let's try them all, okay?"_

_"Ah, alright!"_

The girl was finally out of her prison. They all were - they were out of the doll house they had been forced into.

* * *

- o - o - o -

**A/N: **Well, that's all! My first fic. I wasn't expecting this, but once I started writing, it seemed to flow together.

I hope the ending satisfied everyone. I don't think it was too bad.

Leave a review! See you next fic! ^^


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